


King's Bane

by FireEye



Category: Final Fantasy VI
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-25
Updated: 2013-12-25
Packaged: 2018-01-06 01:04:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,086
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1100630
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FireEye/pseuds/FireEye
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On the eve of the king's death, there's a imperial plot afoot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	King's Bane

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Ocianne](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ocianne/gifts).



There was little left of the king in the old man withered within a cocoon of blankets.  Standing at the bedside, far less lavish than the pillows or the embroidered tapestries or the rosewood furnishings, the boy watched him struggle to fill his lungs with shallow, irregular breaths.

The king’s eyes opened, regarding him intently for a moment, before closing again.  He raised his hand in a weak gesture, and the Locke fell forward to his knees, resting his head upon the edge of the bed as spindly, knotted fingers tangled in his hair.

The desert afternoon deepened over the bedclothes.  Locke lifted his head as Madison strolled through the open doors from the outer chambers to the inner bedroom, watching silently as she bustled over the king’s meal.

Blinking, he rubbed his eyes and slipped under the bed.  Inching around behind the king’s physician as she tended to the bedridden man, Locke reached for the bottle she had left on the bedside table.  Pulling out the stopper, he sniffed its contents.

So engrossed, he startled to find Madison looking down at him.  Her eyes narrowed sharply, and he glanced at the bottle in his hands.

“Guards!”

Clamping the cap down firmly under his thumb, Locke turned and ran.

~*~

The door crashed open, slamming against its hinges.  Locke hit the floor after it, piled upon by four Kingsguard and futilely reaching for the small bottle that bounded out of his reach and rolled across the flagstones.

The Kingsguard recovered to haul the boy up and further _off_ his feet, even as Edgar stooped to retrieve the bottle came to rest by his boot.

“What,” he asked, in a voice more commanding than any other now within the castle walls, “is this meaning of this?”

When the guards didn’t get the clue, Edgar sighed to their blank stares and enunciated each word in emphasis, “Let him go.”

Locke hit the floor hard, and scrambled to safety behind the prince.  Edgar stared at each guard in turn, until one cleared her throat.  “Your majesty, he... that is to say-...”

The King’s Physician stumbled between the guards, huffing and puffing from the sprint up the stairs.  Her eyes widened at Edgar’s presence.  She scraped and bowed, but she scowled when she caught sight of Locke cringing behind him.

“Your highness,” she rasped, “It would be much appreciated if you could keep your... _peasant_ out of your father’s chambers.”  Her scowl deepened, and she fixed Locke with a withering glare.  “Everyone knows rats carry disease.”

“He’s not the rat here.”  Edgar’s jaw clenched of its own accord.  Looking to Locke, he raised the bottle in his hand.  “What’s this?”

Locke’s gaze flicked from Edgar, to the physician, to the bottle.  Getting him to talk could be like pulling teeth out of a dragon’s maw.

“It’s a simple tonic to help ease your father’s pain,” Madison explained, over Locke’s soft reply, “It’s poison.”

“ _Hardly_ ,” Madison sniffed. 

“It’s night thistle-...”

“Utter _nonsense_.”

Edgar hushed her with a raised hand.  All eyes were on Locke, except for Madison, who was studying the prince himself.

“You’re...” Casting about for a word, Edgar settled for, “ _friend_ knew about this?”

As he studied the flagstones beneath their feet, Locke’s breath hitched.

“She never used it,” he finally said, “Everything she used was quick; she didn’t want...” he swallowed his words hard, and amended, “she said it was sloppy and cruel.”

“Locke?” When the boy didn’t look up, Edgar hooked a thumb under his chin and aligned his gaze upward.  “Are you absolutely _sure_?”

Locke’s face twisted into a pout.  Faster than Edgar could react, he had snatched the bottle and retreated towards the wall; and pulling the stopper free, he downed its contents.

For a few long breaths, nothing seemed to have happened.

“I told you-...” Madison began, but her words fell on deaf ears.  A guard’s hand stopped her from inching back.

Edgar rolled his eyes, taking a step towards Locke, but stopped.  Even in the lamplight, the boy had paled visibly.  Edgar reached to catch him as he swayed, but a moment later his chest heaved, and he scrambled towards the window, retching over the sill.  Edgar followed two steps, before turning an inquiring glare on Madison.

“Shades and trickery,” she scoffed.  “Sire, I have been in your family’s service for _years_ -...”

“Eight years,” Edgar agreed.  “Since my mother died.”

The old woman seemed to shrink under the silent accusation.  The moment the prince’s gaze dropped, she lunged at him.  In an instant, Locke was between them, and Madison hissed and thrashed and _blurred_ at the edges.  The thing that had been the King’s Physician melted into a puddle of black sludge.

Everyone stood, staring at Locke; Locke stood, staring at the stained dagger in his hand.

No one said a word.

“You’re dismissed,” Edgar whispered, harsher perhaps than he had intended.  The Kingsguard shifted and shuffled, and turned to file out when he changed his mind.  “Wait, not you, not-... Violet, stay, everybody else go.”

Once they had gone, he fixed the guardswoman with a stare.

“Can I trust you?”

Violet scoffed, “Oh, you trust _him_ but not _me_.”

“He’s family,” Edgar said.  From the corner of his eye, he saw Locke’s head whip up.  Violet must have seen it, because she flinched; her shoulders slumped and she wouldn’t meet his unwavering gaze.  Scratching at the nape of her neck, she sighed.

“I’m with you,” she said at length.  “You know that.”

“Good,” Edgar started, but was interrupted by Locke’s quiet voice.

“What do we tell Sabin?”

“Don’t tell him.  Not yet.  He’ll...” Edgar shook his head slowly.  “I’ll...”

The prince sighed, and rubbed his face with both hands.  The full weight of what had happened had settled on his shoulders, and but the implications had only just begun to dawn on him.

“Find my brother,” he commanded Violet.  “Keep an eye on him, in case there are others involved in this.  We’ll reconvene when I figure out the best course of action.”

When he turned, Locke was staring at the stain on the floor, pale and shivering.  The dagger hung limp in his fingers.

“Are you going to be all right?”

“I think so,” Locke murmured.  Blinking, he looked away.  “My stomach might be sensitive for a while.”

“Good,” Edgar rounded on him, and scowled deeply.  “But for the _Goddesses’_ sake, Locke,” he admonished, and tapped the boy’s head in emphasis, “Learn to think with your head and not with your heart.”

**Author's Note:**

> This... germinated in my head as happy fun fic with Locke getting chased around by guards, but got a little darker than my original intention when I had to think of why. I hope it's still okay. :)


End file.
